


You pretty wretched thing.

by peachscone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bad Feels, Feels, Jim is not okay, M/M, Mental Instability, Sadism, Self destructive actions, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, mormor, sebastian is a product of his enviroment, there's no such thing as happy endings.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachscone/pseuds/peachscone
Summary: Jim stops taking his medication. Things spiral out of hand a lot quicker than one might think was possible. Most broken things can be fixed easily enough, but not the consulting criminal.





	You pretty wretched thing.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a back and forth dialogue. The beginning is my initial prompt, and the first response is the other person voicing Sebastian. There are a few typos, flaws, and inconsistencies. Whatcha gonna do. This was created quite a long time ago, but if the person who wrote this with me finds this and wants credit/removal, feel free to reach out to me.

Jim was bored.   
This in itself was not an uncommon thing in the slightest. He was bored for at least 45 percent of every day, when he wasn’t being entertained or planning the downfall of some high ranking government official. However, this boredom was deeper set. He wasn’t even satisfied with his current last of negotiating with a foreign benefactor, so he’d pawned it off onto Sebastian.   
Now he was draped over the back of the couch, his back arched and his head upside down, instructing Sebastian on what to type in an increasingly aggravated tone. “Just make sure they’ll meet in person.” “No not like that.” “Sound more professional.” “C’mon at least tryyyy”.   
He really was being a more annoying little shit than he usually was, and that was saying something.   
The criminal flipped off the couch, wandering around the living room in circles and groaning in frustration. “Fuck, Sebastian. I hate this.” He whined, circling around to behind his sniper and pulling on his hair to tip his head back. It wasn’t the first physical bother he’d been berating Sebastian with this day, he’d already slapped him twice and poked or prodded him an uncountable number of times. “C’mon basher, stop being so dull.” Jim complained, once again draping himself strikingly in the way.

Coexisting within close proximity to James Moriarty was a feat not many conquered. At least, not successfully and certainly not unscathed. Sebastian would be pressed to find the patience for both of them to survive- it was a thought which had surfaced time and again, more recently now than ever. Then, not many had willingly been placed in a position where it was required. Sebastian would have initially considered the decision a mutual one, however, as time progressed, it appeared there were better solutions that did not involve putting up with his insufferable employer whilst still obtaining the prime benefits. His own room, for example, was a subject of debate.   
Bloody living in the same building, but a different flat was also a liable option Sebastian recently began to dream about.   
It wasn't always bad, though, and it was those brief instances which brought the blond's head reeling back to what /could be/ and not, /what was/. Whatever train of thought Moran possessed was quickly cut off when slender fingers yanked on his hair. He'd given up supplying a verbal reaction after the second time Jim decided to try and poke his eye. Still, he grit his teeth at the sensation. This type of pain wasn't what he associated with the endorphins of rough sex. This was annoying. When Jim draped himself over his lap, Sebastian did what anyone with a sound mind would. He closed the laptop and wrapped a hand loosely over Jim's neck. "Starving for attention, are we?"

Jim expected some sort of reaction, it was what he was pushing for after all. All the pent-up energy, different plans and emotions running around inside his head, bumping into each other, it had to come out somehow. He had decided that being annoying was a good first course of action, being truly aggressive could follow if need be. He grinned up at Sebastian so devilishly that it could've frozen over hell, no surprise or concern in his expression at all. "Tell me what else is new..." He said sarcastically, letting the grin melt into an aggravatingly coy smirk. "Starving for attention... Starving for an employee who can do what I say correctly the first time... Starving for- Oh, I dunno. Someone who isn't a push over." It was all just filler, meaningless and untrue statements that he hoped would get just a bit under the snipers' skin. What else could he do after all.   
Jim noted that the hand over his throat wasn't particularly tight, so he wrapped his fingers around the others wrist, pulling the hand to his mouth and biting down on Sebastian's ring finger. It was a bit too hard to be coy, not hard enough to bleed. His gaze up was unmoved, just a mask of boredom and a lust for something to find interest in.

They'd been through this before, of course they had. Sebastian wasn't new to the process, Jim was a magpie singing the same tune every time. And still, Jim would manage to slither under his skin, crawl beneath it and /bite/. Something to do with Sebastian's past, most likely. Augustus was hardly an ideal fatherly figure, and instilled within his poor parenting some type of craving for approval. Jim wouldn't hesitate to dig his fingers into the scars, scabs long since dissipated but never quite healed with the constant reminders.   
"Starving for someone to shut you up. To make the noise in your head be quiet, because you never bloody learned to." Had it been the first time, Sebastian might have attempted to pull his hand back. He'd done it before, and it had nearly cost him the damned finger. This time, he knew to shove his hand forward and feed into the bite, digging his nails and knuckles into the tender, sacred skin of Jim's face. "I'll feed you something though, don't you fucking worry." Gravity was on Sebastian's side, after all. Jim was slight, he was heavy for his size and that was further beneficial when Sebastian moved his legs out from under him.

Whatever prompted bouts of instability like this, it didn't seem to be fading. There had been a point when he had been almost- typical, but it hadn't lasted long. A string of unfortunate doctors, psychiatrists, and med hopping, had left the criminal void of motivation, sitting and staring at the tele almost all day, his passion for chaos dying out into something much more decaying and harmful. It had been a long time since then, and these bouts of wild attention seeking were far more common.   
Jim winced internally at the comment. It seemed as if spending enough time around him had taught Sebastian how to stab back. He managed not to react externally, shoving the new noise to accompany the old noise back to the dark recess where it resided most of the time. The criminal's eyes watered as Sebastian's finger slipped to the back of his throat. He avoided gagging, but only narrowly, thank god for practice. The harsh scratch of nails against his cheek was unexpected, and therefore invigorating. He rolled his eyes, tugging idly at the hand, wanting to snap back with another harsh comment but rather muffled by the current circumstance. The criminal had a lot of experience wearing masks, and this one would pretend to be completely un-phased while his mind played catch up.

When Jim's body slammed against the living room floor, courtesy of Sebastian's shoving, the larger of the pair wasted no time in climbing atop his employer. He made a point of keeping his hand locked against Jim's countenance, digging his way into the tender surface of a wet, plush mouth and the pallid flesh around the remaining digits. "Nothing to say? That's a first, innit?" Sebastian was winding himself up, at this point. But then, that was what Jim had been looking for, wasn't it? Nevermind the fact that he was playing into the Irishman's cards. That didn't matter. With his knees on either side of Jim, this other hand darted out to grab a hold of his neck once more. This time, the pressure was distinctly more prevalent than the initial, warning grip. "Wanted some type of action, did you? Is this what you expected?" He rested more solidly against the body beneath him, keenly enjoying reigning power over the man who had no qualms of bestowing his influence over Sebastian on any given occasion.

Jim had to admit that it did hurt a bit, he also had to admit that he didn't mind. He only winced slightly upon the back of his head connecting soundly with the hardwood flooring, at least it wasn't concrete after all. The inability to respond was really what got to him, not the increasing lack of oxygen, not the aching of the back of his head, not the burning of fingers too much pressed against his throat. The urge won over, and he tried to speak, which of course didn't work and only resulted in him mumbling unintelligibly and straining around the foreign objects in his mouth. He narrowed his eyes in displeasure, too incapacitated to do much. The criminal was a decent physical fighter when he had to be, but being pinned under someone who was far more skilled somewhat canceled out that option. There really only was one option left. Jim bit down hard, much harder than before. It was difficult around with his jaw so strained, but oh did he manage. Seeing as it wasn't only one finger, he didn't manage to draw significant blood, but just a bit. He writhed underneath the sniper, no so much to escape, but just to cause more chaos.

Sebastian wasn't certain what he was expecting- his fingers were in Jim's mouth, after all, and for a second he was thankful it hadn't been his cock instead. It didn't take away from the fact that it /hurt/. The hiss of pain was inescapable and, this time, Sebastian did attempt to tear his hand away from Jim's mouth with no small amount of pain for his troubles. "Fuck!!" Sebastian spit and cursed, using the hand on Jim's throat to push down against his windpipe and force the man's mouth to open. He would need to breathe eventually, and Sebastian wouldn't let him unless his mouth was free. Pain mingled with heat when the body beneath him rolled up. It shouldn't have, although Moran had long since given up any inhibitions. Sadomasochism was a gift, all things considered. Certainly it had its perks. In this instance, it made what should have been unbearably painful at least somewhat endurable. His fingers were growing numb though they managed to curl around Jim's lower jaw just as the hand on his neck gripped tighter. Sebastian lifted Jim's head only to slam it back down against the hardwood, again and again.

Jim kept his mouth clenched shut for about ten seconds before the previous lack of oxygen coupled with the current lack of oxygen became enough that he was sure he'd pass out without a decent inhale. He opened his mouth with a great deal of effort, gasping in only a half breath before his windpipe of nearly crushed from the sheer force of his dear snipers built of aggression towards him. "You absolute fucking waste of-" He started to scream back, but was almost instantly cut off by the tightened grip. The criminal choked out something unintelligible, possibly in Gaelic for all it mattered, and began to writhe more frantically. His cheeks were a bright red, but his lips were beginning to tint blue. Someone of his stature only had so much lung capacity after all. Every connection with the floor sent a bright burst of light behind Jim's eyes, and the writhing increased to a peak before weakening considerably until he lay still. This was very much a tactic he'd used before, pretending to be damaged beyond intent only to pull a knife on the sniper. However, he did look a bit glassy-eyed at this point.

Possibly, it was the fear that he'd lost his fingers which had made Sebastian stupid. Stupid enough to think Jim had been properly subdued without truly checking his vitals. He'd learned the nifty trick from Jim after one or two rounds, but had forgone the procedure in favour of locating the worst of the wounds his fingers had sustained. Sebastian bent them, hissing when the angry marks were further riled by the movement, already swelling and vibrant in colour. They'd be purple and blue in a few hours, Sebastian was certain of it. Jim had better not fucking expect dexterity from him until they healed at least a bit. He hadn't troubled himself with rolling off Jim completely, only leaning his weight on the side of the sofa where he would have better access to light. It facilitated the process of assessing the damage. "You're fucking lucky they're still in one piece, you know that? What the fuck were you thinking you absolute piece of /shite/?"

When Sebastian hauled off, Jim gasped desperately for air, curling onto his side and coughing raggedly, his throat burning. He had intended to play it off, but one couldn't exactly just play off a physical reaction. He slowly sat up, wincing and gritting his teeth, pressing a hand against the back of his head for a long moment, eyes shut. When he opened them, he didn't look languid and petty anymore, he looked furious. Mad enough to be storming about and breaking things if he didn't think he might collapse if he tried to stand in that instance. "I'M the piece of shite?? You're barely bleeding! And your arm was halfway down my fucking throat!" He shouted back, voice rough and words strikingly exaggerated as per usual. Jim was /not/ done, far from it in fact. He made to stand, managing to not reel backwards from the headrush, walking away in a manner that seemed final, like a stormy exit from a room. It was not. The criminal took his momentary advantage of Sebastian's distraction, to bring a nearly empty bourbon bottle crashing across the side of his head.

Adrenaline was a funny thing; a physical reaction which would inspire movement, a loss of sensation and an increase in vigour within short bursts. Sebastian should have been hindered by the contact between his cranium and the thick glass- it had shattered, raining alcohol and shards of glass across the hardwood in a hailstorm of debris. But he managed to yell, throwing an arm up to protect the remainder of his skull, eyesight partially blinded by the stream of blood making its way down his features. Sebastian looked every bit the sight of a gory, feral beast as he snarled. /He/ hadn't been the one looking for trouble. He'd been doing as he was told, he'd /put up/ with Jim's fucking nonsense all day. It wasn't always the case. Sebastian was just as prone to try and get a rise out of Jim whenever he fancied a bit of attention from the Irishman- but the truth of the matter was: He didn't instigate anything this time around.   
He thought he was saying something along those lines, he thought he was mumbling or slurring profanities at Jim. Whether they truly made sense was beyond him. Sebastian was merely concerned with launching himself at Jim again, intent on wringing the man's neck until all life left his eyes.

It wasn't a point of attention anymore, it was a point of vengeance, pent-up anger and instability. Jim hadn't wanted it to go this far, he hadn't wanted to cause a new gash to open on the side of his snipers face, he hadn't wanted to get to this point, but he was here now and there wasn't exactly a way to backtrack. It wasn't going to take much if Sebastian's intent was truly to kill the Irishman, as he was still trying to re-orient from the last dozen harsh connections with the floor, and now the new one with the stylized tiled wall he had insisted on having. Jim didn't even try to respond, a witty comment wasn't going to help the situation in any direction. 'Make the noise in your head be quiet; you never bloody learned to' was echoing back and forth, twisting knots of frenzied panic in his chest and making his ragged breathing more irregular than before. The criminal only screamed, a choked out panicked cry, his hands flying up not to attack but just to wedge a barrier.   
/you pushed things too far/ /you pushed things too far/ /you always push things too/ added itself to the mix. Jim's actions shifted from attacks to attempts at escape, to push distance, to scratch and bite and claw his way out before he could be choked to death first.

In a similar bout of confusion, Sebastian was suddenly exhausted. He had truly intended to kill Jim, the angry marks at his throat were testament enough to that. Were it not for the disorientation of a hit to his temple and the result of possible blood loss, Sebastian might have found himself with the task of depositing Jim's corpse, rather than cleaning the remnants of their weekend games. It didn't mean Jim didn't suffer. He was likely a breath or two away from passing out when Sebastian felt his arms too weak to continue their assault. Sebastian stumbled back, not because Jim had forced him or kicked him away-- he was too weak to do more than claw at him and thrash-- but because he suddenly wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep a spell or two. "This isn't over." He thought he said, his tongue heavy. Sebastian didn't quite succeed in many things, killing Jim, or laying down. Instead, he settled to sit against the sofa in a similar position to how he'd been before this all began. Jim, for what it was worth, was left a relatively safe distance away, crumpled on the floor as one might abandon a rag doll. "It's not over." Sebastian repeated, as if he hadn't been heard the first time. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he was merely thinking, rather than speaking. At least his vision wasn't swimming anymore. Only the pulsing of his head was evident once he had managed to sit.

This hadn't gone as the criminal had wanted, no not at all. Usually when things started going down this path, it culminated in a rough and angry shag, then a shared bottle of some strong alcohol, then everything was fine. This wasn't fine, this couldn't just magically be gone. Jim tipped to his side, his back pressed against the tiled wall, the floor coming in and out of focus. He could only tell from the stinging of his dark and often malicious eyes that he was sobbing, or choking, or just having delusions again, he couldn't tell which. Jim wanted to drag himself upstairs and lock himself into his study, but he couldn't remember where his legs were or what he was supposed to do with them to get from one place to another. Instead, he just curled more in on himself, and let one of the longer phases out of consciousness engulf him.   
Then- everything was silent. Far, far, too silent. Jim lay still except for the absent twitching of his fingertips, his lips still slightly parted and his crumpled position of the floor unnatural. The sound of shouting and shattering glass still seemed to ring, even though the only true noise was the downpour that had started sometime between the beginning of all of this and where they were now.

Sebastian had only received a single strike to the head, granted it wasn't any less unnerving, but he had the advantage of having a significantly less rattled brain than the Jim-shaped heap on the floor. He wanted nothing to do with Jim right then. Didn't trouble himself with ensuring Jim was alright when Sebastian eventually decided to crawl to their shared bedroom. The twat could mend himself once he got himself sorted. Undoubtedly, either or both of them would be back to biting at each other's throats once they were less disoriented. Or maybe they'd skip right to fucking and the honeymoon phase, only for it to start all over again.   
As of then, Sebastian had a single thing in mind: shower. The smell of congealed blood wasn't one he enjoyed when he knew it was his own. Especially not when it wasn't connected to teeth, hands, and a hungry mouth. Not at all. So, he left Jim there for an undetermined amount of time as he cleaned himself, slapped a square of gauze to the worst of the cut, and decided to finally lay down. He shouldn't sleep-- neither should Jim, come to think of it. They were both at risk for a concussion, the latter more so than himself, but fuck if that stopped either of them from eventually giving in to unconsciousness.

Jim didn't intend to stay out, but then again- he didn't exactly intend for any of this to happen, so what control could he possibly claim to pull in this part of it. He didn't know how much time had passed, only that it had been light when this all started and that it was definitely dark now, probably a long set of hours later but how many it was was difficult to say. Jim blinking, once again greeted by the floor phasing in and out of focus. Everything was returning in disjointed fractals, one sense at a time. First sight; which was the phasing floor, then hearing; which was only a loud ringing, then smell and taste; bitter and coppery, probably still from Sebastian's blood. The last was feeling, more specifically pain. The criminal twisted as his nerve endings began to protest, particularly his head which was pounding louder than he thought was possible. The criminal clenched his teeth together, tightly grasping the sides of his head and staying on the floor. Standing still didn't feel like a viable option.

Given the result of their interaction, Sebastian was in no hurry to get out of the bedroom. It was open and unlocked if Jim's desire to enter was prominent enough to manage a flight of stairs and other considerably vigorous movement. Although he, himself, was comfortable simply laying and staring at the ceiling. How the fuck had it come to this? He wasn't angry anymore, the anger had dissipated with the pain, only a dull throbbing was left behind now, possibly a natural reaction to dull the undesirable sensation. Maybe he was still asleep, he didn't know. He listened in occasionally, intent on preparing himself if Jim would ever surface. Maybe he'd actually died. Sebastian was less pleased to think of having to clean up, than the possible weight of guilt. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes with a low groan. No, Jim wasn't dead, he could distinctly hear movements downstairs. Mentally, Sebastian insisted his contentment of the fact was due to him not needing to drag a corpse away, rather than being glad that Jim was alive.

The rain began to tune out the ringing, that was a good thing, it meant that Jim's hearing still worked. He stayed perfectly still for what felt like another four hours, but could've been just a few minutes, waiting for everything to stay in focus long enough to consider sitting up. Eventually it did, and Jim did sit, propping himself slowly against the wall and letting the inevitable head rush pass. Once that was done, he gripped the back of a chair and slowly stood, reminding himself that the wobbling of the ground under his feet wasn't real, just in his head, like everything else, just in his head. The criminal stood fully upright, glancing at his reflection in the toaster. There was a multitude of angry red scratches on his jaw and neck, one particularly stinging one across his upper lip, many unseen bruises, but nothing else too horribly external. He edged towards the balcony door, and before he knew it, was standing on the fire escape, rain blowing into the living round and instantly drenching the criminal. He gripped the railing until his knuckles were white, letting the downpour disguise any other unwanted emotions that decided to rear their ugly heads in that moment. It was easier than facing the pieces of the one decent thing in his life that he couldn't stop himself from shattering every five seconds.

Eventually, a proper sleep induced further tranquility within Sebastian. It was no longer than an hour, possibly two, but he was no longer involved with a mental battle. Jim was safe, as safe as the man allowed himself to be, and they'd survive the storm. There would be worst storms to come, Sebastian knew. There always would be; they were compatible and incompatible for the same reason. It was a truth he had long since come to terms with. At this point, the mere prospect of a normative relationship, professional or otherwise, had long since lost its appeal. It wasn't until after he'd fully woken from his second sleep that Sebastian decided he was rested enough to venture toward the kitchen in search of a glass of water. His head had begun pounding in a dull headache, though Sebastian suspected it was for lack of hydration rather than the previous strike to the head. He'd gotten worse, after all. He wasn't avidly looking for Jim, though, his mind still vaguely foggy in search of water and only realised his employer wasn't crumpled on the floor any longer when Sebastian deigned to sit himself back down on the sofa where it had all started. Glass was crushed underneath his shoes as he led himself to the couch to turn on the telly. Might as well bring a sense of reality back into the deafening silence of the home. He needed the distraction.

The lack of any sort of medication culminated in different ways each time. This wasn't the first time Jim had decided it would be a good idea to just stop taking them, but when it came to his mental reaction, it was probably the worst so far. Now that the anger was well and truly burnt and beaten out of him, there was more room for agony, for distancing, for self-destruction. The criminal slowly sat down on the fire escape, slipping his slender legs through the spaces in the bars so that they could hang down into the empty space as if he were sitting on a playground swing. He pressed his forehead against the metal bars at eye level, staring down at the street so very far below. He had managed to cop most of the building, though they only inhabited part of it, mostly to avoid anyone calling the police on them. However, there was still life outside the flat, people bustling along the rain barraged streets, going to and from places they loved and hated. It was a nice view, a small reminder that everything wasn't contained inside one Irishman's damaged head.   
It looked so pretty from this far up, all the different colored umbrellas and raincoats. Jim wanted a better view, one without bars pressed against his face. So with that in mind, he unstably clambered onto the rusted latter, sitting precariously on the edge of it, leaning as far out as he could without losing grip of the slick wet metal.

Before Jim could go any farther, Sebastian's hand had shot out to grab a hold of the nape of his neck, fingers twisting into the material of his shirt. He had climbed out eventually, once the television programmes had grown dull. He didn't say anything though, and simply kept a grip on Jim. The fucker was crazy enough to consider jumping off. Or he could possibly slip. There was only so much Sebastian was willing to put up with, however, and he surely wouldn't stand in the rain for much longer than a few minutes. After that, he would be more than willing to let Jim go and jump if he so desired. There was a limit to Sebastian's patience with Jim's bouts of, well, Jim.

The world came ringing back into focus, leaving Jim disoriented, or more than before at least. His pupils were unnaturally dilated when he turned to look back at Sebastian, his face a wash of remorse and distress and confusion, but more importantly- lacking any fire or anger from before. He desperately wanted to shove himself into the snipers' arms, to be reassured and reminded that he existed; but then he remembered the truth of it. That was the same man who slammed him into the floor for being annoying for too long, the same man he'd nearly given brain damage with an almost empty liquor bottle, the same man who almost definitely didn't have a single good word for him. Jim eased off of the rickety latter and back onto the landing, covering his mouth with one hand and keeping the other at the ready for god knows what.

"If I wanted to beat you senseless, I wouldn't have bothered to warn you." It only occurred to Sebastian then, that if he had truly wanted to be rid of Jim once and for all, he would have had the prime opportunity to do so by simply shoving Jim off balance. Moreover, he could still do that now. He didn't, and wouldn't, albeit the thought was one which remained with him until Sebastian motioned, with an incline of his head, toward the still open door. "Let's go inside. Being sick is going to be worse at this rate." They would need time to heal already, healing from two sides appeared immensely unappealing. If Sebastian had any remorse for what had occurred before, he didn't show it. At least, he didn't do so outwardly. The simple fact that he was outside with Jim, regardless of how briefly, already spoke volumes.

Whatever sentiment the action showed, Jim was too far buried in delusions to fully grasp onto it. He walked quietly inside, dark hair dripping rivulets down his face, at least washing away the remaining topical blood that was possibly one or both of theirs. Jim wasn't sure that he had anything to say, or that his vocal chords would even listen to his brain at this point. He slowly sat down in proximity to the gas log hearth and tucked his knees against his chest. Despite the numerous shrinks that had dubbed Jim a sociopath over the years, he was sure that he felt /more/ than normal people, just in different ways. "I didn't mean to.." He final murmured, completely unsure if he'd actually said it or if he'd only thought it. And what did it apply to anyway; Didn't mean to attack with a glass bottle? Didn't mean to go off the rails? Didn't mean to wander onto the balcony? Didn't mean to be wretched and horrible in the first place? All of it? Who could say.

A roll of Sebastian's eyes followed the statement. Not that Jim could see, at any rate. "Of course you did. I did too." Sebastian rarely acted on impulse, he considered very few people didn't mean what they did. Everyone was conscious and aware, at least to a degree. No one was forced into action; it was human, inescapable even to those who deemed themselves /different/. Understanding why was an entirely different prospect. Sebastian might have forgiven Jim if he had stated that instead. "Not understanding why makes a world of difference, Jim." But Sebastian thought he understood why he reacted violently to Jim. He had wanted to. Sebastian had been hurt, and he wanted to hurt Jim right back. "Come here." But that was then, and this was now.

Jim shook his head quickly, looking from down at the floorboards still littered with shards of glass, up to Sebastian still more distant than he remembered. "No- no! I didn't think you were a pushover, I didn't need you to do my stupid work, I didn't want to fight for real or to break a bottle over your head!" His voice was quickly rising in intensity, but it wasn't anger this time. Jim was hugging himself tightly, his over-dilated eyes wide and concerned, still just a pinpoint on the floor. "But you- you did mean to. You wanted me to die! you still do just- differently now, less directly.." He trailed off, not moving. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to..." Jim repeated twice more, his gaze jumping too quickly from point to point, none of them quite meeting Sebastian's.

Perhaps it was more to do with the lack of affection growing up. A distant mother, and a hateful father weren't precisely sound building blocks for a man capable of containing and bestowing affection. It was why he and Jim worked so well. But it was also why Sebastian had enough. He stood up from the couch, decidedly annoyed- couldn't they just /be/? Couldn't they just exist without something or another happening? He stood over Jim as the man droned on, leaned down, and soundly smacked Jim across the face once, then twice. "Be quiet. I don't care if you did or didn't. It already happened, now get up and change your clothes then sit down on the sofa. There's nothing we can do to change the past. Stop thinking about it." He was far more callous than he might have been before, but it hardly mattered, didn't it? There were things that couldn't be changed.

Jim flinched, both times. The unfazed manic version of himself seemed to be dead for the time being, replaced with a much more jumpy and distressed version. He stood up and shuffled quickly up the stairs, sniffling and trying to pull himself together in the minutes it took to peel off rain-soaked clothing and dry up. He'd still been wearing yesterdays business clothes, but changed into briefs and a soft cotton t-shirt that he'd taken from Sebastian ages ago and was therefore much too large. Jim then walked back down the stairs, shuffling back towards the couch and sitting down, still refusing to make eye contact and keeping his arms tucked protectively around himself. The criminals own background was vague, he'd talked about being in and out of psych wards before, and very vaguely about how much he disliked anyone who wore a doctors scrubs or coat because of it, but not much more. There didn't need to be more, his actions on their own said enough.

Only when Jim returned, did Sebastian look at him again. The hardness in his eyes remained, but it was less prominent than before. Keeping up such an emotion was exhausting. /Sebastian/ was exhausted, and he was certain Jim probably was as well. It was the man's mind which didn't allow him to rest. He didn't wait for the man to inch closer before he slung an arm over the man's slender shoulders, using his hand to guide Jim's head down, lower, until it rested on his lap. "We made a number on each other, huh?" Jim was mostly bruised, although a grand majority of them wouldn't be concealed with a suit alone. Something to consider the next time Jim would need to make an appearance, but they both knew he had concealer and foundation for these instances. Slowly, he began playing with Jim's hair, running his fingers through the wet strands. "How's your head?"

Everything was just a bit too bright, even with just the watery light that filtered through the windows from the streetlights outside. Jim softly closed his eyes, though they continued to shift apprehensively beneath the lids as they always did. He lightly gripped onto Sebastian's trouser leg, running the material between his fingers, the grounding element of that coupled with the hands in his hair making his heartbeat finally start to slow back towards normal. He hadn't even realized that his fight or flight response was still in gear until it started to die out, leaving him more attentive and less panicked by far. "Sick, I think." He quietly responded to the question, a whole choir of conflicting intrusive thoughts butting in to reassure the point. "I want to apologize, but you probably don't want one- right?" Jim followed the response with a question in turn, his words careful and hesitant.

"No, don't waste your breath." He used to want one, and he would get it whenever Jim would come back down, unsettled by his own humanity. Times had changed and so had Sebastian's expectations. His vision of Jim as well. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, however, merely a shift in their dynamic. Almost undetectable. Sebastian hadn't decided if he liked Jim in these moods. He might have, if he had any capacity to comfort Jim beyond petting him and allowing him to lay on Sebastian. Otherwise? The man was utterly useless at supplying further accommodations. He might grant Jim a kiss on the forehead, but Jim would have had to be very, very good to inspire such a reaction. Instead, Moran settled for continuing to pet Jim as though he were a dog, or a cat. Jim possibly better suited the latter description. "You stopped taking them." It was a statement, not a question.

Jim exhaled a little breath, somewhat sad if one were paying attention closely. There had been a point in time when he would refuse to utter anything /near/ an apology, surviving by sheer willpower. Now he just wanted to fix things that he had broken, but Sebastian didn't work that way. Things had to be fixed by moving on from them, and doing better next time, not by trying to look back and change any of what was already passed. Sometimes it was difficult for Jim to not fight that. He hated leaving messes, which was difficult for a person who was very good at creating them. "I did." He responded, once again quietly, continuing to trace invisible shapes into the fabric of Sebastian's trousers. Every single time he went off them, nothing good came of it, and yet- every single time the criminal felt just a little bit alright, he abandoned them for the sake of truly existing for a few days.

The grip in Jim's hair tightened significantly, a clear indication that Sebastian was punishing him. Likely, it couldn't feel very good considering how abused the back of Jim's head must have been after meeting the ground half a dozen times, but the tension was brief, and soon Sebastian released his hold and settled for rubbing a hand over Jim's neck. His fingers traveled slowly, from Jim's neck and gradually toward his protruding jawline. He gripped the man's chin and used that to turn Jim's head to face him, at least partially. "Why the fuck do you keep doing that?" His tone wasn't subtle, bordering accusing, but quiet all the same. Sebastian wanted a discussion, not a screaming match. It was clear- it should be clear that he was tired, wanted some winding down. Obviously he knew Jim would want to talk, to try and fix things. Sebastian could give him a bit of that before he got too tired and moved on.

"I-" Jim started to speak, but was cut off by the unwanted tug against the extremely bruised back of his head. He whimpered slightly, stopping the tracing and flinging his hand up to attempt to grip the roots of his hair and stop the painful tension. However, it was over before he could properly act, and his face was turned before he could even think of shifting away. "I don't like feeling empty inside. They just want to turn me into a shell of what I can be- I don't want to not feel anything." He responded honestly, physically preparing himself for another slap or hair pull or harsh scold by visibly tensing up, moving his hands up to his chest apprehensively. Jim knew it wasn't the right answer, or more specifically- that there really wasn't a right answer. However, it was what he felt to be true for himself, which was by far the best he could offer.

Sebastian eventually let go of Jim's jaw, leaving him to slump back into whatever position he chose to take. He was even free to shift out of Sebastian's lap, the man wouldn't stop him. He reclined his head against the sofa instead, eyes closed. "They stop you from throwing a fit. You always end up throwing a fucking fit. You never learn, do you?" He was berating Jim, and though his words were far from kind, they weren't nearly as malicious as their potential to be. He'd stopped stroking Jim, settling instead to simply have his hands slumped on either side of his lap, one draped over Jim's middle. "I want you to start taking them again. Take half a dose if you need to, but we're not doing this again, or I'm moving out." It was for the better. Would probably keep both of them in line in that way if Jim decided he didn't want to continue with his medication.

That hurt considerably more than another physical chastisement. Jim blinked and nodded his head slightly, though everything internally screamed not to. "I'll take them, I don't want you to leave..." He said, once again very up front, something that didn't happen often. The criminal eased up off the couch, glancing around the room once more, knowing he wouldn't see it quite to same once the medication set in again. He walked to the bathroom, rustling around for the wretched orange pill bottles that he'd stuffed far back into the cabinet, and taking one, a half dose of the usually prescribed two. He also swallowed down a painkiller while he was at it, and then returned back to the living room, carefully settling back on the couch and press his check against Sebastian's lap.

He didn't stop Jim from getting up and going, despite not knowing where the man's destination was. Jim could have very well decided he'd rather go to bed instead, Sebastian would have been disappointed but not surprised. What /did/ surprise him, was when Jim returned. Sebastian had moved over to the far end of the couch, allowing Jim to lay fully on it. He'd gotten some sleep, but Sebastian doubted if Jim had done more than rest his eyes a minute or two. It was entirely possible this was where they would sleep. At least, that Jim might fall asleep for a while like this. His fingers stroked along Jim's temple, lightly tracing what was undoubtedly a knot forming at the back of his head-- gently. "I do care about you, Jim. More than you might think. You drive me up a wall more often than not," He said this with a scoff, laughing at himself, at them and their ridiculousness. "I love you though. I don't know how crazy that makes me." There. He'd said it. Granted he was hoping Jim was too out of his mind to properly register it, but a part of him would have preferred Jim to know Sebastian didn't despise him. "Twat."

Jim made sure to angle himself so that he wasn't facing Sebastian, more so that he could stare out at the dark rainy world outside instead of focus on anything exact. He nodded slightly, the movement only soft against the others thigh, letting his eyes close, trying to suppress the panic that sudden change often exacted in him. The mania didn't like being smothered, and he knew that when he opened his eyes next, everything would be a little be duller in shade, but hopefully more manageable as well. There were several moments of silence where it almost seemed as if Jim had already passed out, but then he spoke up quietly once more. "you are crazy, but not as much as me- and I do you love to." He said sincerely, shifting slightly and leaning into Sebastian's touch. The only rest he'd gotten in the past few days was the time he'd spent unconscious, so sleep was blissfully welcoming. The criminal quickly drifted off, mostly shown by his hands relaxing and his breathing evening out to a regular swell and fall.


End file.
